


Seranon

by Beryll (Rynthjan)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, F/M, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:40:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynthjan/pseuds/Beryll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's hard to decide which is the greater plague - zombies or ruling lords.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seranon

\- When the sun rose  
I Iooked at my wife  
And I looked at my child  
And I looked at my land  
And all slept peacefully  
Oblivious -

-

A tomb should be silent. Solemn, dignified, imposing. Air chilly with the imagined breath of the dead in your neck.

The dungeons of Castle Seranon were none of this even though they were a tomb all right – just that the corpses in it were not quite willing to admit they were dead.

There were endless moans and cries from their half rotted throats, echoing down the narrow corridors accompanied by the rattling of the bars when they tried again and again to get at the trembling, whispering guards.

The air was stifling hot from way too many torches guttering on the walls. A vain attempt to chase away all the frightening shadows and instead filling the rooms and corridors with yet more moving, shifting darkness.

The stink of rapidly decomposing flesh mixing with the stink of fear.

The impossibly fat man waddling into the torture chamber was draped in too much priceless cloth, jewels dangling and rattling much like the chains of the undead prisoners. He was sweating profusely, the embroidered handkerchief he was constantly whipping his brow with soaked through.

In short – the earl of Seranon was a study in misery.

Even though no one present had any pity to spare for him.

The guards were too busy with their own misery.

The tall, sinewy man following the earl seemed perfectly at ease and entirely without understanding for the poor suffering noble.

Then again he was much better dressed for the occasion, wearing a simple robe without sleeves that was cut up the sides to his thighs, revealing thin leather pants and sturdy boots beneath, all in a dull dark red color that reminded of dried blood. His arms, his face and the shaved sides of his head were covered with elaborate tattoos the same color as his clothes. The remainder of his hair was bright red and pulled back in a braid that reached almost to his belt. The only visible weapon he carried was a ceremonial looking dagger of black metal.

He stopped in the doorway and surveyed the preparations before him: One of the undead had been restrained on the rack, futilely pulling on the chains, teeth snapping at the guards who stayed well out of reach. From the wild shaking of his head one eye had come loose and now hung out of the skull, flopping with every move like some grisly copy of the earl's jewelry.

“Well?”

It was probably supposed to sound like an authoritative demand but the fact that the duke's voice broke even on the single word and came out like a high pitched squeak made it sound more like a desperate plea. Certainly a more appropriate kind of address for the occasion.

Jaan turned to the earl who had withdrawn into the furthest corner of the chamber, wringing his hands.

“Well, what?” The amusement he was feeling wasn't evident in his voice. It was calm and in the sweltering heat of the dungeon an icy cold reminder of his authority, the fact that he was omitting all the honorifics the earl was used to being heaped with just adding to it.

“Can you...” Another hitch in the ear's voice and he violently cleared his throat. “Can you heal them...?”

Jaan almost snorted but kept his reaction to a raised eyebrow.

“No. They are dead.” he answered flatly.

That much should have been obvious even to the earl.

“Oh.”

Apparently it wasn't.

“So...”

“The source of the plague needs to be found and eradicated. Then you can get rid of the whole lot down here.” Jaan explained, mentally smirking since he knew perfectly well what question would be next.

“Get rid of them... but... but... I thought that's what you were here for...?”

“Indeed. I tell you what to do, you do it. You will pour plenty of oil on them – which you can do safely from without their reach,” a relieved sigh from the guards in the room accompanied that bit, “and then you will set them aflame. Easy, quick, fool proof.”

The guards nodded eagerly while the earl gaped like a suffocating fish.

“But... but...” he blubbered.

“What?”

“Is there no way to save them?”

Jaan cocked his head. He wouldn't have credited this fat maggot with so much empathy for prisoners in his dungeons. It seemed he was missing some vital information.

“And what makes them so precious to you?”

The earl waved his arms about, now looking more like a strange, fat bird with much too small wings desperately trying to take to the air anyway. He was making no sound though which made the whole performance even more comical. None of the guards seemed willing to speak in his stead so the display continued for a ridiculous amount of time.

“Never mind.” Jaan finally cut it short. “I told you what to do and you will do it.”

“But... how will we ever clean out the dungeons?” 

Now the voice of the earl was taking on a nerve raking shriek and Jaan quickly felt all amusement flee.

He didn't deign to answer and instead settled for staring down the useless waste of meat that called himself a noble. It didn't seem to have the desired effect since the earl stared back imploringly, his little pig eyes nearly lost in folds of flesh.

With a soft sigh Jaan turned away from him and instead brought his attention back to the undead on the rack. He was here to do a job after all.

“Did he bite or scratch any of you?” he asked the guards in the chamber. He didn't expect any of them to admit to it but he was quite sure their comrades would rat them out readily enough.

They all reminded quiet and scared which was enough reassurance to Jaan.

The undead was still struggling against his bonds, mindless and unconcerned with his lack of success. Given enough time he would tear at the chains until his limbs were rotted through so thoroughly they would break and thus free him but Jaan certainly didn't intended to still be standing in this chamber by then.

He stepped closer to the rack, ignoring the creature snapping at him and drew his dagger. With the certainty of a man who had done the same thing countless times he cut along the lines of one of the tattoos on his forearm. Immediately the line filled with welling blood as well as a faint blueish flame. He held the arm over the zombie's head well out of reach and let the blood drip down on him. As was to be expected the undead lapped at the blood like a happy cat at a bowl of fresh cream.

Jaan closed his eyes, whispering the proper incantations under his breath. He felt his senses enter the corpse with the essence of his blood, felt himself melt into the empty vessel. Devoid of a soul which had fled when the body died. So this was not the type of curse that bound the soul to undead flesh.

Carefully he explored the brute taste of the magic that made this corpse hunger for the living. Not an elegant or elaborate spell. Simple and full of spite and blazing brutal emotion. Woven from hatred.

He opened his eyes again and picked out another tattoo, this one small and on the back of his hand, and opened it up this with his dagger. He walked in a tight circle around the rack, letting his blood drip to the ground.

A detection rite, one that would mark his prey and allow him to find the maker of this curse. Immediately he felt the gentle pull in his bones, out of the dungeons, up, out of the castle but nearby.

With a satisfied nod he flicked the few drops of blood from the dagger, the black metal coming away unnaturally shining clean. The cuts on his arm and hand already scabbing over. Healing too quickly but none of the guards seemed particularly interested in this. They were way to busy ignoring everything Jaan was doing.

The earl was still standing in his corner, now staring in abject horror, his face stark white against the gaudy colors of his collar.

“I'm done.” Jaan said calmly. “You may now burn them.”

-

The cool drizzle blown into Jaan's face by unsteady gales of wind was a pleasant contrast after the suffocating heat of the dungeons. He walked through the squelching mud that the village folk called their main road, unfazed by the fact that his robes were soaked through and now looked almost black.

The squad of guards trudging after him were far less grateful for the cooling downpour. Maybe because they had not been stationed downstairs with the undead and weren't able to appreciate the fresh air and lack of angry, snapping teeth and reaching fingers, stiffened to claws.

They did try to look mean and menacing though, glaring at nobody in particular since the village's people were hiding in their sorry huts. Not from the guards of course. They were hiding from Jaan.

Everybody knew a brother of the Sacred Order was bad news. The only reason he would go anywhere was if there was evil about and to be eradicated. And more often than not anyone who got in the way was just eradicated as well.

Jaan prided himself with not being one of his overzealous, slightly insane brothers but his robes and tattoos were a warning sign that precious few people ignored. Mostly Jaan was thankful for this fact. Sometimes he mourned it. Right now it wasn't really on his mind.

He was following the pull of the detection rite he had cast earlier. It had led him from the castle, through the small but clean town huddled against the castle walls, out to the gently swaying wheat fields, surrounding the town like a golden blanket. Harvest time was near, almost upon them. Probably people would have been in the field already hadn't it been raining and hadn't they been confined to their homes due to the looming “zombie plague” as the earl had pompously christened it when he had first greeted Jaan.

He had followed a muddy track through the fields for a good hour with the increasingly wet and moody guards trailing behind. He had not asked for the escort but apparently someone had deemed it necessary. Jaan doubted the earl had personally been involved in the matter since he had withdrawn to his chambers claiming rather believably that he was feeling very ill.

Finally they had reached this village, right on the border between the wheat fields and a light forest of gnarly old oak trees. Huge, mottled hogs could be glimpsed between the trees, digging through the softened mud eagerly or rubbing their wet hides against rough tree trunks. They were having a great time obviously. There surely was a boy or two guarding them but they had become invisible as soon as they entered the village, just as the rest of it's people.

Not that Jaan needed any more guidance than his rite. The person he was seeking was currently in a hut at the end of the village that he could already see. Small, build of heavy logs with a thatched roof, trinkets hanging from the roof beams, shifting in the breeze and dripping rain. The village's witch or healer, Jaan guessed. How disappointingly obvious.

Only a few more strides and he had reached the place, the guards coming up behind him. A simple symbol was painted on the door in blue. A ward against evil. Honest witch work. Nothing that would have made Jaan guess the person inside would have an interest in casting a zombie plague upon these lands.

“This it?” the sergeant of the squad asked gruffly, at the same time trying to look menacing and brave and professional and managing none.

He was a bully, Jaan surmised. He was probably shitting himself with fear of the evil witch.

“Yes.” Jaan replied calmly.

“Want us to go in and... you know...?”

It was painfully obvious the man had no idea what 'you know' would entail and had not the slightest wish to go inside. Which was entirely fine with Jaan. He didn't have the slightest wish for this mindless brute to get in his way and mess up his task.

“No.” Jaan said just as calmly.

The guards gave a unified sigh of relief while their sergeant tried to scowl and failed even at that.

“Wait out here.” It was a simple command and coming from him, Jaan was sure it would be obeyed.

He wasn't afraid. There was nothing in that hut that could possibly harm him.

Gently he pushed the door open with his fingertips and ducked inside.

-

The acrid stench of burning flesh was thick in the air. Huge clouds of greasy black smoke rose from the door leading down from the courtyard of the castle to the bowels of the dungeons. It was kind of ironic to see this heavy door thrown wide open for a change.

The yard of the castle itself was illuminated by some torches and mostly deserted. Down there the stench was even worse than up where Jaan stood at a window on the upper floor of the castle's guest wing.

Nothing burning quite as slowly and disgustingly as undead flesh, Jaan thought somewhat bemused. Of course it wouldn't have been a good idea to alert the earl to the fact beforehand. That would just have resulted in further arguing. It was insulting enough that the man had dared to argue again when Jaan had returned from his visit to the witch. He had no respect for the Sacred Order or maybe not enough. Whatever the reason for his lack in manners, he had managed to seriously annoy Jaan.

Or maybe it was less the man himself but what the witch had told Jaan of her reasons for the curse she had woven.

Jaan wasn't obliged to listen to those who used the black arts. But he always did. He believed in getting all the relevant details and not just skimming the surface of a problem. Often it would help him root out the actual disease where his brothers would only combat symptoms but sometimes he learned things he would rather have not known.

Like the fact that the poor souls imprisoned in the earls dungeons weren't actually criminals but that he was just using his dungeons to hold the local farmers he had sent his guards to round up a few days earlier. People who had done nothing wrong apart from being at the mercy of the earl. Young men and woman from all nearby villages who the earl had planned to sell at the slave fair in the ducal city a few days ride south. To pay for his gambling debts.

It hadn't been the first time this happened.

A few month earlier they had claimed the witch's daughter. She had never even made it to the slave fair. A pretty young girl she had roused the earl's attention. Cleaned up she had been delivered to the earl's quarters. After he had enjoyed her he had generously shared her with his favored guards. She had died before dawn.

The witch had learned of all this from a serving woman.

She hadn't cried when she told Jaan. Her face had been stony, calm. Whatever embers had remained in her heart had guttered out when a brother of the Sacred Order had walked into her hut.

Her plan for revenge had been simple. Curse the earl's merchandise. Make sure he wouldn't be able to repay his numerous debts. Then wait those he owed to come. They were people of even less mercy and patience. 

She had been grateful that he had listened. Even more grateful for his blessing and forgiveness before he send her soul to the next life. Her sins had been founded in righteous rage. The gods were understanding. She had passed on calmly.

The earl had been a lot less calm when Jaan returned. He had demanded – demanded! - to know what Jaan had learned. He had been told clearly and politely that was none of his business and the problem had been dealt with and wouldn't arise again. Probably the fat slug would have continued arguing if Jaan hadn't simply turned his back on him and walked out.

He had planned to try and sleep a few hours before leaving this inhospitable place at first dawn. But the stench kept him awake as much as everyone else in the castle. That and the churning impotent anger in his gut.

A brother of the Sacred Order found and eradicated those who used the black arts, protected people from the darkness lurking beyond the veil of the mundane. It wasn't his place or vocation to interfere with simple mortal injustice and cruelty. No matter how much and how often he wished it were otherwise.

He wasn't really surprised when he heard her gentle footfalls behind him, the sounds of her naked feet on the bare stone floor a concession to him. She could have moved entirely soundless just as well.

She stopped right behind him, so close that he could feel the heat of her body even though she didn't touch him. Then warm hands slipped around him coming to rest against his chest, her body crossing that last line and pressing against his back, soft and solid. Her breath in his neck, then against his ear.

“Have you missed me?”

Her voice like the waters of a clear stream glittering in sunlight.

“Always.”

The answer was out of his mouth before his mind had even framed it.

Laughter, tickling his senses and making his blood run hot.

“My poor, poor Jaan.” Her palms rubbing soothing circles on his chest. “So strong, yet nothing you can do.” Soft lips granting a feather light touch to his neck, making his hair rise and other parts of him as well.

“Are you tempting me?” A painfully stupid question since the answer was quite obvious.

“Yes.” Her answer again edged with that tingling laughter. “You do want him dead though, don't you?”

“Yes.” His answer just as obvious.

“You know everything comes with a price...” Gentle warning.

“And you know I am yours. How may I serve?”

Her palms stopped their motion, lying flat against his chest again and he felt her brow come to rest between his shoulder blades.

“I need you to go home.” Said softly, without laughter, with sad seriousness.

A shudder ran through him. Home. A place of darkest memories. A place of simple certainties. Dreaded and sorely missed in equal parts.

None of that mattered though. Not when she asked.

“As you wish.”

Her hands creeping down his chest, down his stomach, slipping under his robe and into his pants, leaving a trace of heat pooling in his groin, driving out the cold of old and new memories. A reward he never expected but always gratefully accepted.

She surprised him when she spoke again. “Jaan. Kiss me tonight. I missed you too.”

-

Jaan was woken by an angry fist hammering against the door to his guest room. Drowsy and slightly disoriented he found the spot in bed next to him still warm but empty. With a soft sigh he pressed his face into the pillow she had left behind and inhaled her scent. Warm, dry, harsh sunlight painting dancing colorful specks onto his closed eyelids. She carried the smell of home.

The insistent knocking at his door did not cease. Instead it was now accompanied by a deeply distressed voice.

“Brother Jaan? Please? A terrible thing has happened to the earl. Brother Jaan?! Please wake up!”

Jaan knew perfectly well what terrible fate had befallen the earl. He didn't need to get up and look to be certain that she would have given him exactly what he had envisioned. She always made good on her promises.

Still he rolled out of bed, grabbed his pants from where he had lost them the previous night on his way from the window to the bed, and pulled them on.

“I'm coming.” he called.

The servant outside was anything but calm. Red faced, breathing hard and nearly as fat a maggot as the earl himself he looked like he was close to having a stroke.

“Yes?” Jaan asked calmly.

His calm didn't have the desired effect. It sent the poor man into even more of a frenzy, desperately trying to get across how dire the situation was.

“The earl has been murdered!” he exclaimed, waving his arms about in a commendably good imitation of the late earl.

“Show me, please.”

Jaan followed the servant who seemed all too happy to comply and leave all this unwanted responsibility in someone else's hands.

The door to the suite of the earl was thrown wide open, guards with fierce scowls standing around uselessly, servant wringing their hands in dismay and trying to blend into walls and corners at the same time.

The earl himself was sprawled on his bed, displaying his impressive rolls and folds of flesh and fat stark naked. He wasn't the ugliest thing Jaan had ever seen but he did rank pretty highly. The fact that his huge belly had been cut open crosswise and his entrails were spread all over the bed didn't really add to his charm.

Stepping up to the bed Jaan could feel faint warmth when he laid his palm against an out flung arm. Not dead long then. Carefully he checked the body over, giving the credible impression of using scared rites as well as mundane expertise.

Then he turned to the hopeful servant waiting nearby with a just as carefully arranged sad expression on his face.

“I'm afraid I can't be of any assistance here,” he said, “this is purely mundane murder. Nothing that I can get involved in.”

The servant blinked in horror, realizing that the matter was back in his hands.

Jaan smiled politely and left the man behind, returning to his guest room. It didn't take him long to put on the rest of his clothes and pack up his few belongings. A few minutes later he quietly crossed the courtyard of the castle, approvingly noting that the smoke from the still open dungeon door was thinning.

The sky had cleared up and the sun was putting a golden sheen to the wheat fields outside the town. The towns people, heading out to start with the harvest took care not to cross Jaan's path or attract his attention but he didn't mind.

All in all this task had gone well and he was satisfied with the results.


End file.
